The Babyloniaca, a third century B.C.E. work composed by the Babylonian priest Berossos to defend the antiquity and great learning of the Babylonian tradition to a newly Hellenized world, contains an account of the origin of writing. The god Oannes (half-man, half-fish) elevated humanity from an animalistic state with the introduction of written script. The first scribal instructor was divine. For those whose exposure to ancient Near Eastern languages such as Sumerian and Akkadian is because of training in contiguous fields such as biblical studies or classics, the myth is an evocative one. There is something imposing, otherworldly, and intimidating for many students about embarking on the study of these languages and the cultures which made use of them. Dominique Charpin, Professor of Mesopotamian History at the Sorbonne, notes at the very beginning of his work that the field of Assyriology has always been at a competitive disadvantage with regard to interest by the larger society. "No doubt Assyriology would be more popular if cuneiform writing were as appealing as Egyptian hieroglyphics and if a genius had early on provided the key to it. But such is not the case" (4). Egyptologists, apparently, get all the respect. His work seeks to introduce readers to the various writing systems present in ancient Babylon while providing a thorough overview of the various kinds of texts produced by ancient scribes. In the process, he also examines the social contexts responsible for the production of texts and pays close attention to what we can really know about how texts were used and preserved from one generation to the next. The work originally appeared as Lire et écrire à Babylone in 2008.

Following an introduction that briefly narrates the history of the discovery and decipherment of cuneiform languages in the 19th century and discusses the practical matters involved in deciphering and reading tablets, Charpin devotes the first chapter to questions about the nature of scribal practice. He focuses particularly on the issue of scribal "schools" or edubba (tablet house). He highlights that "what is known about these edubba is based in large part on literary texts describing the activities that took place in the schools" (26) and that our knowledge of the particularities of such institutions and our ability to identify by means of archaeological surveys their presence is highly constrained. He argues, in essence, that our use of the term "school" invites anachronism. A more likely context, he claims, are highly trained individuals who agreed to take on apprentices, likely in their homes. "All in all, scribal apprenticeships may hardly have been different in their sociological reality from other ways of transmitting knowledge…they occurred primarily in the context of the family" (32). Our desire to find official (state/temple sanctioned) schools, teaching what seems to us to be a highly difficult skill, may say more about our own context than it does about the ancient Mesopotamian one.

Another significant argument in chapter one is the contention by Charpin that modern students of cuneiform languages make the understandable mistake that learning the language was much more difficult than it actually was. Our exposure to various cuneiform languages and local and temporal changes within the tradition provides us with an overstated sense of how difficult it might have been for a scribe to learn to write and read in one place and one point in time. He states concisely that "the present day epigraphist's knowledge must not be confused with that of the person in antiquity" (65).

In the second chapter, Charpin examines the nature of archival documents and what we can know about how they were produced and preserved. He helpfully provides a primer of sorts to questions related to material culture in his discussion of the medium of clay. He also discusses the relationship between the language of "culture" and the vernacular. Chapters Three and Four provide an overview of various genres of texts preserved from antiquity. Correspondences of various sorts and methods for ensuring their reliability by their recipients are discussed in chapter three. There is a particularly interesting discussion here of envelopes and authenticating seals. The following chapter focuses on oaths, contractual texts and treaties. In this context, Charpin stresses the notion that orality comes before the written text in ancient Mesopotamia. At the same time, "it came to be recognized that not only did the written document serve to transmit information through space, it could also allow the spoken word to survive the person who uttered it" (176).

Chapter Five is focused on the place of so-called "literary texts" within the larger canon of Mesopotamian literature. Charpin opens with an attempt to clarify the concepts of 'work' and 'author' as they relate to the ancient context before focusing on the related issue of libraries and archives in ancient Mesopotamia. He stresses throughout that modern scholarly fascination with literary texts, such as the Gilgamesh Epic, is an anachronistic index for determining the importance of such texts in their original context. "Acquisition records" or catalogues of texts at the "Library" of Ashurbanipal demonstrate the marginal number of literary texts in comparison to texts dealing with "exorcism, astrology, teratology, divination by auspicious omens, medicine, oneiromancy, and heptoscopy" (196). Charpin suggests that the latter texts would have had vocational utility with regard to priests, diviners and others. He also points to the larger numbers of texts which are analogous to our notion of reference works and how modern anthologies of Mesopotamian literature often do not include these texts. "These compendia constitute the vast majority of 'scholarly' texts that have been preserved. Modern anthologies generally do not include them: the texts are so monotonous that reading them usually brings on boredom" (184). The fabled Library of Ashurbanipal is also cut down to a more modest size by Charpin. Drawing on the colophons found on texts recovered from the library, he demonstrates how these texts were derived from other places throughout Ashubanipal's empire for the purpose of demonstrating the power and authority of the king. The term for library itself, girginakku, is not used for the collection of Ashurbanipal; that term is reserved for a collection of texts housed in the Temple of Nabu, patron god of scribes.

He concludes the chapter with the observation that, despite its military ascendancy, Assyria was culturally dependent on previous Babylonian tradition. (He draws an interesting comparison here to the military/cultural relationship between Greece and Rome.) He also argues that Mesopotamian culture became "ossified" (213) around 1200 BCE and tended to reproduce/copy the same set of texts over and over again. I suppose, however, that one scholar's cultural ossification is another's cultural maturity as it moves towards canonization and the production of commentary literature.

The final chapter provides a discussion of texts written as gifts for the gods (votives and foundational inscriptions) and the rise of texts intended for the future. In particular, he points to the rise of historiographical texts and the presence of linear storytelling. He mentions that, so compelling was the narrative model offered by Mesopotamian annals, that early Assyriologists in the 19th century composed histories of the ancient Near East which were hardly more than paraphrases of the ancient texts. Those with expertise in ancient Israelite literature may nod their heads in agreement and recognize a tendency that still exists.

Charpin has written a book that is accessible to those outside the small academic field of Assyriology. The work is remarkable for its level of detail and the breadth of its concern. Charpin is able to keep one eye on the specifics of numerous texts and their archaeological contexts. At the same time, he is able to situate the written legacy of these ancient cultures in a broad sociological context, while arguing in some places for a generally new approach to reading and integrating the wealth of material into cognate fields.

This book aims to prepare students without Greek or Latin, and with little knowledge of grammatical terminology and principles, for study of the classical languages (it is a pre-textbook, as it were). Fairbairn promises to give his readers 'enough familiarity with language in general that [they] will understand what the various parts of a language have to accomplish in order for speakers and to communicate well in that language', but also to explain 'how Greek and Latin accomplish the tasks of language' (xviii-xix). Given that most beginning students today 'cannot diagram sentences, identify parts of speech ... or explain syntax correctly' (xiii), a primer of this kind would seem to meet a real need. And Fairbairn's desire to break students out of "English mode" as early as possible — relating Greek and Latin grammar not to what they know of English grammar, but to wider notions of how languages work — is laudable. I do, then, have great sympathy for Fairbairn's aims, and the way he wants to achieve them. I would have very much liked, indeed, to endorse the book with as much enthusiasm as the blurb-writers on the cover ('essential companion', 'unique and helpful'); yet I am afraid that, for me at least, the book is seriously flawed.

Fortunately, I can start on a bright note: the first of the book's four parts ('Getting Started') is very good, particularly the first two chapters. Here, Fairbairn details the pitfalls students will face when embarking on the study of Greek and/or Latin, but also the rewards that they will reap (ch. 1: 'Learning a Foreign Language: The Bad News and the Good News'). He also gives the reasons why students should study the languages at all (ch. 2: 'Studying a Dead Language: Why Bother?'). The arguments that Fairbairn rehearses here will be familiar to anyone who has ever had to defend working on the ancient world (presumably all of us), but perhaps not to the target audience. Fairbairn presents them with clarity, gusto, and a personableness which is genuinely motivational. The final chapter of this part (ch. 3: 'The Building Blocks of Language') is where the 'Understanding Language' actually begins. Without reference to Greek or Latin, it offers brief introductions to lexical semantics ('Words and their Usages'), to the parts of speech, to independent and subordinate clauses, and to inflection.

The seven chapters which make up the remaining three parts ('Nouns and the Words that Go With Them' — 'Verbs: The Heart of Communication' — 'Looking at Sentences as a Whole') all deal with Greek and Latin. Fairbairn's working method is to explain grammatical phenomena of the classical languages in the abstract, so there are few examples in the original languages (those that do occur are nearly exclusively taken from the New Testament and the Latin Vulgate). Often, Fairbairn will give an invented English example, and then say what grammatical constructions Latin and Greek would use to express the same thing. And it is here, I fear, that the book flounders. If students are really to comprehend Greek and Latin grammar in the abstract, without being allowed to "bathe" in examples,1 the descriptions and accompanying English examples had better be exceedingly clear, and Fairbairn too often does not oblige. More worryingly (and this, in my view, is what disqualifies the book), when Fairbairn 'translates' his English examples into Greek and Latin grammatical constructions, the number of factual inaccuracies and misrepresentations is very great. I am willing to forgive, as "typos", such instances as 'Participles have person, number, case, tense and voice' (178); but errors of that kind are the least of Fairbairn's worries.2 Let me offer four examples, which are, I fear, representative of what we find throughout the book:

* To distinguish between clauses and phrases, Fairbairn takes as his starting point the English sentence "I want you to do this for me." His explanation runs as follows (113):

In this sentence, "you to do this for me" is often called an infinitive clause in English, because it includes a subject "you" and a verb "to do." If you were to express this idea this way in Greek or Latin (which you would not normally do), then the equivalent of "you to do this for me" would be an infinitive phrase because it contains a non- finite verbal form rather than a finite verb. If you were to say the sentence the way you should say it in Greek or Latin —the equivalent of "I want that you do this for me"—then "that you do for me" is a clause because the verb form would be a finite verb with a particular person (second) and a particular mood (subjunctive).

Much is wrong with this — apart from the fact that students may have to read it a couple of times to make any sense of it. First, I do not see why Fairbairn says (here and elsewhere) that Greek and Latin would 'not normally' use the infinitive here: what is so unusual about volo te uxorem domum ducere (Pl. Aul. 147-8) or βούλομαί σε αὐτῷ διαλέγεσθαι (Pl. Lys. 211b)? Second, the distinction that Fairbairn draws between the status of the complements in English and Greek or Latin is non-existent: "to do this for me" is no more a clause with a finite verb than it would be in Greek or Latin, nor is the status of "you" in Fairbairn's example any different than that of te/σε in my examples from Plautus/Plato.3 Third, though a clause with ut + subjunctive would make perfectly good Latin here, there is no way that Greek could use the subjunctive. * In a discussion of the moods in independent clauses (128-9), Fairbairn gives the following three sentences: "You will see your grandchildren and their children." "May you see your grandchildren and their children." "Might you see your grandchildren and their children." (I wonder whether the third of these sentences is even possible in English.) Fairbairn goes on to explain how the Greek and Latin moods would be used to express the three: a present subjunctive for the second (good Latin, impossible Greek), and a future (!) optative in Greek for the third (very much false). The future optative makes another ugly appearance in ἵνα-type purpose clauses (157 and again at 164), where it is equally uncalled for.

* The Greek middle voice (105-6) is described by Fairbairn as a 'set of verb forms to use for reflexive action', describing 'a subject acting on itself rather than acting on another or being acted on by another': this initial statement, misleading at best (because it is true with only a select number of verbs such as κείρομαι, γυμνάζομαι, etc., and altogether not a very frequent use) leads to impossible examples at 141-2 and 146 ('hit oneself' does not translate into a Greek middle).4

Between the subject (tu) and the main verb (horruisti) are two verbal phrases that both modify tu adjectivally. The first is ad liberandum hominem, and the second is suscepturus hominem. (Notice that the word hominem—"man"—is the object of both verbal forms, even though it is written only once.) In the first phrase, liberandum is a future passive participle, so the idea of this phrase is "for the purpose of man needing to be freed." ...

There is nothing 'adjectival' about ad liberandum. And hominem as the 'object' of a gerundive? Given that the example serves to explain a distinction in voice, the confusion is most unhelpful. (I also have to wonder if the example is ideal for beginners).

In total, I noted about 30 places in the book where Fairbairn commits errors of some severity, and I stopped marking minor ones halfway through.5 No matter how good the intentions, no matter how much students might benefit from the parts that are good, a book of this kind ought not to get away with that. It will do little good for students beginning their study of Greek and/or Latin to work their way through a primer, and then immediately having to unlearn much of what they've learned.

Fairbairn spends a few pages in his preface to explain that he is not a professional linguist ('I am a more advanced fellow student, not an "expert"', xx), and why this is a good thing. He cites C.S. Lewis: 'It often happens that two schoolboys can solve difficulties in their work for one another better than the master can. ... The fellow-pupil can help more than the master because he knows less.'6 To the extent that we 'experts' (if I might immodestly rank myself among that number) sometimes fail to grasp what is really troubling a student because we 'have forgotten what it was like not to know the terminology' (xxi), etc., Fairbairn's stance may be helpful (though one could argue that this is a problem to be solved by better teachers, not less expert ones). But having students explain Greek and Latin grammar to each other also comes with a risk, namely that they say things which are simply not true. I fear that when it comes to his own book, Fairbairn's analogy cuts both ways. Excepting the first two chapters, I cannot see myself prescribing this book to students in the future, or recommend in good faith that anyone else do so.

Notes:

1. Cf. J.D. Denniston (1950), The Greek Particles, Oxford, p. vi. 2. The book has actually been well proofread: apart from some missing accents at 168, I found no real misprints. 3. Cf. e.g. R. Quirk et. al. (1985), A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language, §14.6. Constituents such as "you" in such infinitive constructions should be seen as an object with the main verb (cf. Quirk, §16.66, and for Greek A. Rijksbaron (2002), Syntax and Semantics of the Verb in Classical Greek: An Introduction, 3rd ed., §32.2(i)). 4. Cf. R.J. Allan (2002), The Middle Voice in Ancient Greek: A Study in Polysemy, Amsterdam, 88-95. Allan gives a frequency for the direct reflexive use of the middle of 1% (p. 123, and 124 n. 217). To be very precise, 'hit oneself' as a middle is possible for τύπτομαι and κόπτομαι in the 'highly restricted, idiomatic use 'beat oneself as a token of mourning'' (Allan, 90 n. 150), but that is clearly not what Fairbairn means. 5. Among these I would number Fairbairn's sometimes all-too-impressionistic explanations for certain grammatical phenomena: for instance, at 84-5, the use of the definite article in Greek with abstract nouns (ἡ σοφία, etc.) is linked to Plato's theory of ideas (because wisdom is 'a definite reality here on earth which reflects a higher reality'); at 162, we read that the Latin ablative absolute construction uses perfect passive participles because the language as a whole 'prefers the passive voice to the active'. 6. C.S. Lewis (1958), Reflections on the Psalms, San Diego, 1-2.

The Polish researcher Marek Winiarczyk dedicated a quarter-century of his life to the study of utopian thinking and writing in the Hellenistic period (see p. XI); now he proudly presents his results in an overview of almost 400 pages. German pages, to be precise. Because although based in Wroclaw, the pre-Stalin Breslau, he is well aware that his native Polish language (in which he has authored two quite unusual and very successful detective stories) is not known widely enough worldwide. His name, however, might be familiar to many of his colleagues: his book's bibliography (pp. 267- 327: 60 pages!) enumerates 18 pertinent publications by him since 1976, foremost among them Euhemeros von Messene. Leben, Werk und Nachwirkung (München 2002).

Winiarczyk's bibliography is a treasure trove of relevant research material: Chapter IV offers to the reader (or perhaps: the user) no fewer than 224 annotations, Chapter V, 343! All of them are full of the latest as well as of the oldest relevant titles, going back even to the 16th – 18th centuries (cf. e.g. p. 190 on G. B. Ramusio, Navigationi e Viaggi 1550, where Iambulos was treated on pp. 174-176).

The book devotes one chapter each, worked out in the most thorough manner, to the Big Five authors: Theompompos of Chios, Hekataios of Abdera, Onesikritos of Astypalaia, Euhemeros of Messene, and Iambulos, and one to the founding of Ouranopolis by Alexarchos. A framework is given by the profound introduction on the problems of ancient utopias (pp.1-27) and a closing summa summarum (Zusammenfassung pp. 219-260 plus 'Addendum' p. 265) and, as second appendix, a list of three dozen utopian motifs in ancient literature (pp. 261- 263). In closing, four indices lead through the book to the names of persons, places, objects, and all the loci citati (pp. 329-360).

It should be added that the results of these vast efforts are presented clearly and reliably. A few minor glitches seem negligible to me: e.g. the Russian authors Tschernyschew and Sifmann (pp. 12 and 183 respectively) are omitted from the bibliography; that the "Polnische Akademie des Könnens" (p. XI) remains enigmatic; that 'Hellenismus' is spelled with only one 'l' (p. 317), and a few more such nugae.

While for reasons of space we cannot discuss here in detail the five individual authors as portrayed in their respective chapters, it is important to reflect on Winiarczyk's stance on the phenomenon of 'utopia' itself, as outlined in the first chapter. Here Winiarczyk first deals with the term (p. 1); he then sketches the history of learned research on ancient utopianism (pp. 2–4); thereafter he goes into various attempts at definition and classification (pp. 4-12). This overview is rounded out by a look at the reasons for the genesis of utopian texts (pp.12-14). Most important are the final three sections: on the history of utopias in the Greek world (pp. 14-20); the characteristics of utopias (pp.21- 22); and ultimately reality comes in (pp. 22- 26): "Das Problem der Utopieverwirklichung" (the problem of realizations of utopias). All this culminates (pp. 26-27) in "Einfluss der Utopie auf den gesellschaftlichen Wandel" (the influence of utopianism on change in society).

In an (un?)lucky coincidence, at the same time as Winiarczyk's book (and that means: too late to be used) there appeared a voluminous study by Thomas Schölderle, Utopia und Utopie. Thomas Morus, die Geschichte der Utopie und die Kontroverse um ihren Begriff (Baden-Baden, Germany, 2011), on the history of utopianism and the controversy about its understanding. It might be seen as a complementary study to Winiarczyk's book, in a similar fashion as the contribution of E. Von Contzen, "Die Verortung eines Nicht. Ortes (sic!). Der fiktionale Raum in Thomas Morus, Utopia" in Neulateinisches Jahrbuch, 13, 2011.

Winiarczyk is certainly right when he deplores the confusion in modern terminology concerning utopianism. While he conjures up forerunners like Karl Kerényi and Karl Mannheim, Ernst Bloch and Michael Bloch, Moses I. Finley and F. E. and F. P. Manuel, his own suggestion is remarkably clear and should be followed: he proposes that we restrict the notion of the "Utopische" to human dreams, desires, and wishful thinking, as it is found in mythology, fantasy, idealisation, and literary conventions such as the 'locus amoenus' (p. 11). His 'utopian elements' seem to me a reasonable way to deal with various phenomena scattered through ancient epic, comedy, lyric, and philosophy.

It is a colourful world into which Winiarczyk takes us, a world of wishful thinking and day-dreaming, but also of clear reasoning and constructive planning, rich in contrast and with many dimensions. While the learned discussion certainly will continue, Winiarczyk's book will remain a fundamental point of orientation for our understanding of the earliest stage of European utopianism as it manifested itself in Greek culture.

Did the Romans distinguish between fresh water and sea water? Was the libertus Chrysogonus in fact as important as Cicero seeks to represent him? Were Vibius Pansa the tribune of the plebs in 51 BC and Vibius Pansa the ill-starred consul of 43 BC one and the same person? Was T. Statilius Taurus merely a cipher in Augustan Rome? These are just a sampling of the questions that Hinard poses in characteristic fashion and with a sharp eye for paradox in the pieces that have been assembled within this anthology. Mercilessly demolishing misconstructions of the past created by his predecessors, ancient and modern, Hinard time and time again provides close philological readings of the sources that are instructive even when the reader must disagree with the results on methodological grounds.

Published over the period 1975-2007, this anthology of forty articles by Hinard has been arranged thematically in four parts, each of which has in turn been divided into two or three sections. Part I (pp. 19-162) deals with the figure of Sulla and the proscriptions. Part II (pp. 163-330) is concerned more generally with the themes of civil war and revolution in the late Republic. Part III (pp. 331-425) engages with the political significance of the topography of Rome in the Republic and early Principate. Part IV (pp. 427-486) deals with the preservation of social order in ancient Rome, focussing upon the topics of funerals and military oaths. Written over more than three decades, these pieces reveal a progression in Hinard's thought and an ever more critical assessment of the literary sources upon which the ancient historian is primarily reliant when seeking to compose a narrative of l'histoire événementielle. So, for example, Hinard in the end came to have a highly negative view of the historical value of Appian's description of Sulla's dictatorship (p. 71), abandoning the traditional, acritical stance that he had himself espoused in his 1985 biography (v. infr.). Similarly, in discussing the building activity documented for Rome during the 40s-20s BC, Hinard takes a refreshingly critical view of the historical banalization effected by Suetonius in his biography of Augustus (p. 407). Life is complicated, and historians have the duty of explaining without falsifying through over-simplification ("gommer" is the memorable metaphor deployed by Hinard on more than one occasion). The organization of Hinard's publications in this anthology allows readers to follow Hinard as he grappled with problems and elaborated with greater confidence ever more nuanced solutions over the course of his career. The resulting "dialogue" focussing upon details is accordingly particularly useful for anyone wishing to have more than a passing acquaintance with the last century of Roman Republic.

For incisive philological observation and methodological coherence, Hinard's work offers an example that might be disseminated with considerable profit beyond the French-speaking world. It is striking to see how often Hinard wrote to good effect and early upon a topic that was only subsequently covered in an English-language publication. For instance, his critique of the work of B. A. Marshall on the question of the identity of the person who killed M. Marius Gratidianus appeared before that of E. Rawson, C. Damon, and A. Dyck, and makes for far more compelling reading (pp. 143-146).1 Similarly, highlighting the virtues of a small textbook compiled by E. Gabba, Hinard identified the problem and significance of mutinies in the Roman army of the Republic over a decade prior to the seminal publication of S. G. Chrissanthos (pp. 455-459).2 Unfortunately, neither of these articles by Hinard appears within the bibliography of English-language publications, and this is the rule rather than the exception.3 Literary critics and ancient historians alike might consult with advantage items such as Hinard's article dedicated to the young Horace (pp. 225-231) or the piece examining the status of praecones in ancient Roman society (pp. 431- 444).4 In like fashion, textual critics may find something of use, if not of comfort, in Hinard's frequent notices regarding modern editions and the dubious principles that inform their creation (e.g. pp. 175, 469). Nor will archaeologists find that their field has been overlooked, as can be seen from the trenchant and damning remarks made concerning the identification of Temple A of the Largo Argentina in Rome (pp. 375-387) and discussion of the rebuilding of the temple of Apollo by C. Sosius (pp. 393-400). Invariably Hinard's name appears in English- and German-language bibliographies only in conjunction with the proscriptions, but the forty papers gathered in this volume demonstrate a wide-ranging and penetrating vision of the late Republic that merits further attention.5 Even where Hinard fails to convince, his discussion proves stimulating and draws attention to materials that are often neglected. In short, the volume is perfectly suited for use within a seminar on the late Republic and early Principate for advanced undergraduates or graduate students.

It is to be regretted that Hinard did not have the opportunity to produce a revised version of his now classic biography of Sulla, which appeared in 1985. In undertaking to write about Sulla within a traditional, narrative form of historiography, he came to a greater appreciation of the various problems that exist and possible solutions. Many of the pieces published within this anthology (overlapping with Svllana varia published in 2008, but going further) reveal further thought upon the subject, with considerable clarification of the image of Sulla and his achievement. For instance, whereas Hinard settled in the biography for the affirmation that Sulla resigned the dictatorship at some unknown moment prior to the end of 81 BC6, he subsequently went on to a more rigorous consideration of Sulla's consular power and the aims of the dictatorship and arrived at the conclusion that this office had been laid aside on 1 June 81 BC (p. 70). This marks an advance upon the revisionist thesis that had been advanced by E. Badian (1970/1976). As is so often the case in ancient history, irrefutable proof is not to be had, but the various pieces of evidence strongly point to the conclusion adopted by Hinard. It is therefore most welcome to see that forty (nearly all) of Hinard's journal publications have been united in one place for ease of consultation. Frequently difficult to find, they are essential reading for anyone wishing to work upon the figure of Sulla and the late Republic in general. Numerous invaluable observations are buried within Hinard's scholarly oeuvre.

Overall, the quality of production of this collection is quite high and may serve as a model for others to imitate. However, there are various instances of poor proof-reading, most notably within the sole piece published in Italian: "triumirato" (p. 51), "que" (p. 52) rather than "che", and "si tratto" (p. 55) rather than "si tratta". When authors publish in a language other than their own, the risks increase for all concerned, and it is perplexing to see that these mistakes carry over from the original publication. Of course, the French is itself not immune to these slips, e.g. "aboder" (p. 455). Other instances, readily visible, include items such as the intriguing Book XII of Tacitus' Historiae (p. 260 n. 49, 518 [where it is faithfully reported within the index]) and capitalization of the word spiritus as though it were a part of the name of Cn. Cornelius Dolabella (p. 191 n. 79). More distressing, on the other hand, are items such as the fact that in the index of personal names the praetor Cn. Cornelius Dolabella (81 BC) is mistaken for the homonymous consul who gave his name to that same year (p. 525). This occurs notwithstanding Hinard's clear statement as to the identity of the individual being attacked by Cicero (p. 191). Mistakes of this sort are comprehensible, in view of the circumstances in which this collection was created, but are rather unfortunate in view of the high standards of prosopography to which Hinard accustomed his colleagues and readers. Fortunately, they are the exception rather than the rule.

Colleagues and former students are to be congratulated for this useful presentation anew of Hinard's most significant academic papers. Overall this anthology has been attractively published, and it looks like the sort of volume that one dreams about leaving behind as a testament of erudition and scholarly engagement.

Edited by Anne Friedrich and Anna Katharina Frings, the book under review belongs to the "Edition Antike" series, the aim of which is to make significant ancient works available and accessible to a wide readership through "Leseausgaben" – that is, to provide an original Greek or Latin text accompanied by an updated translation, along with other indispensable reading resources. The editors of this volume fulfil the task admirably, and a remarkable balance has been struck between the various parts of the work. The core of the book comprises a reliable Latin version of Claudian's De raptu Proserpinae (DRP), with a German rendition in prose on facing pages; this is prefaced by two preliminary sections and followed by thirty pages of explanatory notes and an introductory bibliography. The volume is an engaging introduction to the last great poet of ancient Latin literature.

Significant philological interest in Claudian in recent decades has prompted the production of several critical editions, translations into modern languages, literary commentaries and monographs on individual poems. A native of Alexandria, Claudius Claudianus is known principally for his Latin hexametric panegyrics, invectives and historical epics, which were written under the patronage of Stilicho and deal in considerable detail with events at imperial courts. From a literary point of view, these political poems reflect Claudian's outstanding command of the Latin poetic tradition and an innovative combination of genres. Thus, engagement with these works requires a sophisticated literary and historical knowledge. The uninitiated have tended to eschew the complexity of such courtly verses, seeking refuge instead in the DRP, Claudian's only lengthy mythological composition.

For a long time, the poem was regarded as unoriginal and overly descriptive. The volume edited by Friedrich and Frings is no minor achievement; DRP is a difficult text. Because it is unfinished, both the dating of the poem and its interpretation as a literary text pose significant challenges. Since the editions of Charlet (1991) and Gruzelier (1992), 1 research on Claudian's work has set out to reevaluate the artistic merits of DRP by exploring the specific narrative technique it embodies and re-contextualizing it within the aesthetic mainstream of late Latin poetry.

In the introductory section ("Einleitung"), which discusses the author and his audience and the poetic tradition of the work, Friedrich also raises a number of issues not commonly addressed in other editions and commentaries. She pays considerable attention to the archaeology of cults to Ceres in Sicily and the reasons that may have led Claudian to locate his version of myth on the island. Friedrich emphasizes the polysemic layers of the narrative, a view which rests on the assumption that Claudian's version alludes to the political background in which the epic was written. She observes that DRP is an innovative fusion of the tale of Pluto and Proserpina with the Gigantomachy, and argues consequently that the traditional meaning of the agrarian myth is imbricated with political significance. Hence, the version of the story given in DRP may be read as referring to the legitimation of power, the corn supply crisis in Rome and the Gothic invasion of Italy in 400-401. Accordingly, Friedrich assigns the poem to a later date, noting the effects this attribution has on the question of text transmission.

The Latin text is taken primarily from Hall's edition (Teubner, Leipzig 1985); however, twenty-three passages follow Gruzelier's version of the text (Oxford 1993). In line with the overall design of the series, such variations are usefully listed in a single page appendix, "Zur Textgestaltung."

The German text is a joint translation produced by Friedrich and Frings, who are careful to stay close to the original text, rendering the poem in clear and fluent prose. In general, they retain Claudian's bold mode of expression (e.g. the opening verses 1.1-19; and 2.137-8 and 327). However, in some passages their translation tends towards epexegetic commentary (e.g. 2.161: fessis serpentibus inpedit axem "wickelte seine erschöpften Schlangenfüße um die Achse"; 186: victa manu "besiegt von des Dis Gewalt"; 206; 265-7; 3.20-2; 353, etc.). The translation of 3.332 evinces a slight inconsistency with the original text: lucus erat prope flumen Acin "Ein Hain befand sich in der Nähe des gelb strömenden Acis". The Latin text retains the wording flumen Acin recorded in almost all the manuscripts, but construes a cretic flūmĕn Ā-, which is irreconcilable with the dactylic rhythm and unexpected in Claudian's regular metrics, but is acceptable if a correptio of Ăcin is conceded (as in Charlet 1991, Gruzelier 1992 and Onorato 20082). In turn, the translation seems to render a reading (lucus erat prope flauum) that Hall had recovered from the Claverius edition, which is based on the precarious ground of a single manuscript. Finally, in 2.366: pervigili plausu "unter unaufhörlichem Klatschen" is correct, but the adjective has lost its original strength in the context of that dark underworld scene.

The subsequent section is a set of explanatory notes ("Anmerkungen") to guide the novice reader through the forest of mythological, poetical and geographical allusions. The writing is occasionally concise, but does not compromise clarity of expression. Most of the annotations fall into one of three main categories: simply informative notes, literary comments on compositional aspects, and advice or warnings as a proper reading guide. Friedrich combines common sense with philological competence to build a well-balanced section; however, a more in-depth reading will still require the use of further commentary. In this regard, a more expansive approach to some topics would have been welcome. For instance, page 42 and note n. 72 make reference to the praefationes of Books 1 and 2, but more specific information might have helped the reader to reach a more refined understanding of these two sections, which, though formally separate from the rest of the poem, are significant to a full appreciation of its meaning.

The volume concludes with an introductory bibliography, which includes all of the essential items. The subcategory "Sekundärliteratur zu Claudian", however, betrays a number of minor imbalances (Wilson 1990 on the archaeology of Sicily would be more at home with Hinz 1998 on Ceres' cults in the following section3). Nevertheless, these quibbles do not detract from the achievement of the whole. Readers looking for a detailed introduction to the on- going discussion on DRP may be disappointed, but many others—not only in the German-speaking world—will benefit from this propaedeutic work on this notable piece of Latin poetry from Late Antiquity.

Rome and the Sword is, perhaps surprisingly, exactly what a straight reading of the title would imply: a (military) history of Rome that places special emphasis on the sword "either as a metaphor for the martial power of a… Roman state, or as [an] artefact in the hands of… Roman soldiers" (222). This is an ambitious project, and Simon James, an archaeologist who has already a contributed a great deal to our knowledge of the material reality of Roman warfare, is well positioned to provide a new synthesis. In under 300 pages of text (six chronological chapters moving from the early Republic to 565 CE in addition to a preface, introduction, "prelude," and conclusion) he moves continually between traditional military history, the social and cultural concerns of the "new military history," and the archaeology of Roman swords, keeping quite a few balls in the air. This book is readable, highly informative, and impressively error-free, and it will no doubt appeal to a broad target audience—but that is not to say that it is a complete success. At times, the profusion of different angles and interests threatens to overwhelm the narrative, and despite great efforts on the part of the author it proves difficult to ever truly join together the two titular subjects.

James stakes out his territory with precision. The opening sections of the book establish his view that the rigorous separation of scholarly study from both personal interests and larger human concerns is wrong-headed. The book is dedicated to his grandfather, a Great War veteran, and draws not only on what James has read and studied, but also on where he has been and what he has done, including working with the "experimental archaeologists" of the Ermine Street Guard. James' explicit unhappiness with the old habit (of historians and archaeologists alike) of studying ancient violence in an ethical vacuum can complicate the book in an interesting way, and it informs his commitment to the "new and different approach" to Roman warfare that has transformed the field over the past fifteen years. James draws on the work of Adrian Goldsworthy and Ted Lendon in rejecting the hierarchical, chart-ridden, and "curiously sanitized" military history of the past and submits that his emphasis on the sword "brings in the direct human experience, and something of the horror" of Roman rule (8). Despite the many shifts in perspective, James does indeed keep the human experience in sharp focus even when considering the artifacts themselves—no small feat and an important contribution to Roman military history. Relative newcomers to the field will be well-served both by his prefatory debunking of the old "war machine" approach (22-4) and the able summaries of important bits of work by Brian Campbell, C.R. Whittaker, Nicola Terrenato, Ramsay MacMullen, Peter Heather, and many others. There is no book on the Roman military that can match the combination here of chronological scope, the inclusion of so many sub-fields, and the deft handling of scholarly trends and controversies.

Many of the potential readers of this book will be familiar with the work of the historians that James draws upon and thus most interested in the added value of the archaeological perspective. These readers should be pleased. James has a knack for swiftly sketching some of the more technical aspects of both archaeology and swordsmithing. He corrects old assumptions and skillfully blends the cultural, linguistic, and material identities of arms and armor. We learn, for instance, that the adoption of the famous gladius Hispaniensis in the late 3rd century was less a complete change of hardware preference than the borrowing of an attractive "sword culture" (82), and he gives a balanced account of the cultural and physical reasons for the move to "open order" fighting in the middle Republic. James' mastery of both the archaeological and the textual material gives him a rare authority. This he uses well, as in his many calming reminders that "barbarization" is always an inappropriate way to characterize a long process of cultural change that usually involved adaptations too slow to affect the Roman soldiery's sense of self. It seems unlikely that many military historians are ready to ride the pendulum all the way over to a culturally deterministic explanation of combat behavior, but if so, James' careful explanation of the necessarily communal evolution of the Roman panoply (186)—with the size and shape of each piece limited in some degree by the rest of the kit—would be a good check. Alas, though, for the responsible use of authority: James dutifully points out the gaping holes in the archaeological record and avoids any overstatements-of-case (at least in terms of the nature of the physical evidence). This becomes a little dispiriting as the book follows the story of Roman weaponry late and eastward, where we know little enough about Roman arms and, because of various factors both ancient and modern, virtually nothing about the Sassanian weaponry that seems to have influenced it. We can't do any better than to answer the big questions as he does: "Are we seeing here a modified 'tactical package' of infantry arms and techniques? Perhaps" (125).

The six long chapters that follow Rome and its swords through time are divided into many stand-alone sections of a few pages each (separated, naturally, by a small sword-shaped icon). Some of these sections cover specific periods or issues in social or cultural history, some focus on the archaeology of a certain weapon or period of arms development, and some are military history set-pieces. It is a great strength of the book and a testament to James' unfussy precision as a writer that these bite-sized morsels go down easily. But taken together they make a rather lumpy narrative stew—if not indigestible it is still difficult to swallow comprehensively (or, if picked at rather than gulped, liable to leave more fastidious eaters unsatisfied). There are lengthy quotations from Livy's pseudo-historical first decade, in-depth discussions of grand strategy, an engaging excursus on sword belts and scabbard-slides, a skillful description of pattern welding, explanations of the living arrangements of military dependents, a great potted cultural history of the Batavi, a brief and rather speculative argument about the military significance of the Second Sophistic, a summary of the role of aristocratic cooperation in Roman diplomacy, and an explanation of Germanic sword burials as evidence for Rome "wielding the sword by proxy" (211). Much of this is fascinating, but the book can't be a comprehensive account of Roman military culture over such a period, and so (to take the treatment of the middle Republic as an example) such familiar elements as a narrative of Cannae, an explanation of the manipular legion, or a summary of the career of Spurius Ligustinus might have been omitted.

Chapter Five, covering the years 269-376, can be taken as representative of both the strengths and weaknesses of this approach. There is a rather standard "battle piece" (Strasbourg), a large section dealing with military hardware (which includes an explanation of developments in helmet technology reminiscent of some of James' terrific work on the Dura material), a treatment of the debate about the effect of the third century crisis on the later Roman empire, and discussions of the revolution in fortification, Orwell and totalitarianism, and the restructuring of the legions. James chooses to keep many plates spinning, and, while none crashes to the ground, it is hard at times to know what to make of all the activity. Topics treated only a few sections back begin to wobble badly before they are spun back up to speed as the narrative moves on. It's worth noting, too, that James' prose is stronger in the more innovative sections and shows signs of fatigue in dealing with the more familiar issues. We read, for instance, of Rome's "enormous resource bases" (72) and its "vast resource base" (76), and Roman victories both "shatter" and "shake" the earth on the same page (90).

Given the metaphors afflicting this review, it may seem unfair to point out that the metaphorical thrust of this book does not strike home as well as the archaeology. Yes, the Romans made a lot of the gladius, and James makes a solid case for its importance as a symbol and metaphor (19ff), not least because effective use of the short sword requires great aggression and the choice of a brutal and intimate form of combat. Nevertheless, the pilum and the dolabra would, at times, be better symbols for Roman warfare and, as James notes, "among the Gauls, the sword, as both instrument of violence and symbol of masculinity, was even more prominent than among the Romans" (106). It's not a bad organizing principle for the book, but it does become clunky in repetition, with the sword often invoked in either its literal or figurative roles (the qualifications "literal" and "symbolic" reappear with some frequency) and all the while jostling for narrative influence with several other bipartite metaphors, including "the sword and the open hand," the faces of Janus, the carrot and the stick, and "the eagle and the wolf."

These are petty complaints, and there is much more to be praised. This was a huge undertaking and yet there are hardly any mistakes. (I saw only two minor copy-editing issues, although there was a notable apostrophic atrocity: "Scipio's soldiers 'Cannae'd' Hannibal's" [74].) James' seriousness of purpose keeps the many appeals to comparative military history from seeming intrusive (although the inclusion of a sketched M-16 for size comparison to Roman swords is a bit jarring) and his rigor in avoiding anachronism and identifying all neo-Latin as such is most welcome. The episodic organization of the book (despite a good-sized index) is not ideal for reference use, but then again scholars of the Roman army will enjoy reading through. Though much is familiar, there are, in addition to all of the archaeological excursuses, rarer pleasures, such as finding the same auxiliary unit keeping its accounts at Vindolanda in the 2nd c. and facing dissolution in the 5th c. Life of St. Severinus.

This is a very good new military history of Rome—highly accurate, pleasant to read, never ponderous or boring. A reader seeking a basic grasp of Roman military culture would do well here, for even if Rome and the sword are really two different stories, each is well told. James' neatest trick is to provide a sort of stereoscopic texts-and-artifacts vision of the Roman military: although the twain never do meet, the extended side-by-side view gives a new and satisfying depth-of-field. Neither archaeology nor culture-through-literature gains the upper hand, and much of Roman military history, like the gladius itself, "may well have resulted from a combination of tactical practicalities and military ideology" (36-7). This is really as much of a conclusion as one can draw from such a careful survey, and in any case the book is a new synthesis as much as it is another military history. The personal investment in the topic that James confesses to in the early going clearly helped make this book so consistently engaging, but it can also get a bit quixotic, as when, in the conclusion, he dwells on the ethics of imperialism and the possibilities of human happiness. But even if James wields his sword metaphor with a heavy hand he should be congratulated, both for synthesizing and effectively delivering so much information to so many different sorts of potential readers and for doing it all without letting us forget that swords, in the end, are tools for killing.

About BMCR

Bryn Mawr Classical Review (BMCR) publishes timely reviews of current scholarly work in the field of classical studies (including archaeology). The authoritative archive can be found at http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu.

This site was established to allow responses to reviews through the comments feature; all reviews from August 2008 have been posted.